


Three Times Felix Drank to Make It All Go Away, and the One time He Decided to Quit for Jack | Alternate Title: World is Cold and Life’s Not Fair

by Pseudthisyafucks (collettephinz)



Category: Holy Trinity (YouTube RPF), Youtube RPF
Genre: 3+1, ;), Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Drinking, M/M, Which is saying something, Yellow-Lens Ghost AU, check out yellow-lens on tumblr, felix gets drunk, for any questions concerning the ghost AU, ghost au, god like, horrible coping techniques, jack hates it, more angst than usual for me, please do not try these at home, referenced accidentally suicide attempt, rumination of possible suicide attempt, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 06:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/Pseudthisyafucks
Summary: based onyellow-lens'Ghost AU (check tag Ghost AU on her tumblr for more info)After everything has gone wrong in Felix's life, it's hard for him to deny one of the oldest and worst coping mechanisms in the book.





	Three Times Felix Drank to Make It All Go Away, and the One time He Decided to Quit for Jack | Alternate Title: World is Cold and Life’s Not Fair

**Author's Note:**

> so [yellow-lens'](http://yellow-lens.tumblr.com) ghost au is really my fav thing ever right now and i wanted to write for it soooo i did
> 
> here ya go
> 
> all of the ideas belong to her, while Jack and Felix belong to Jack and Felix respectively
> 
> there will be more from this AU just cause i love it so much k thx bye <3

**Ett**

The bottle of whiskey wasn’t Felix’s; he was almost positive of this. He didn't like whiskey. He was more of a vodka guy even on his best days. Usually he’d just have his liquor and chaser, then go to bed with a warmth in his belly that chased the nightmares away. Jack would usually hang around in the evenings before heading over into the small office to study up on whatever the fuck he thought was going to work this time, and only if Jack left to study before twenty at night would Felix maybe have a second glass. 

His point was that he wasn’t a habitual drinker. 

Felix wasn’t an addict, he didn’t get drunk just to tear his life apart, and he knew the dangers of giving in to the lull of alcohol when he was already such a fucked up person. He didn’t want to end up back in the psych facility, honestly couldn’t afford it, both socially, mentally, and emotionally. He didn’t buy a lot of alcohol just to rid himself of the risk of giving in to the temptation. It was just the smart thing to do, like how he kept his sleeping pills in the bathroom instead of on the nightstand because last time he’d kept the pills by the bed, he’d overdosed and woken up with a tube down his throat. 

The only vodka Felix ever had in the house were the tiny little bottles that you’d find in hotel minibars. Anything else would be too big for Felix, too dangerous. He knew his limits and he knew what he was capable of denying— the heavy serenity of drunkenness blurring the world away was not one of those things. 

That was how Felix knew the whiskey wasn’t his. He hadn’t bought it, that was for certain, he couldn’t afford a handle of whiskey this big. The thing was larger than his bottle of orange juice in the fridge, and the label was in English. He wasn’t sure how the handle had gotten into his grocery bags, especially since it wasn’t on his receipt. He might’ve considered the random handle of whiskey being a sorry attempt at flirting from the lovely cashier, but he knew her paycheck couldn’t give her this kind of economic leeway. 

He stared at it as he put away the milk and eggs, stared at it as he washed his socks, stared at it even as he cleaned the dining room. He even stared at it when he tried not to stare at it. Felix cast his eyes to the closed door of the study, half expecting Jack to float through the wood at any second now, casual as could be. Jack always took his abilities lightly. Felix would give his hand and foot for the ability to phase through walls. Hell, he’d give hand and foot for just about anything Jack could do.

He’d give a lot more just to have Jack lose his ability to do all of that crazy shit. He’d give his damn life to be able to kiss Jack just once.

This last thought had him reaching for the whiskey before he could convince himself otherwise. And before Felix knew it, he was three shots down and on his fourth, throwing them back like bullet shells. 

He sat back on the couch after the fourth shot and waited for things to start to feel okay again. Felix’s eyes were drawn to the spot next to him, to where he and Jack had watched a documentary on swans last night. The sofa hadn’t even been indented with Jack’s body and Felix had been forced to find a blanket because Jack didn’t have any body heat, didn’t have a body at all, and now, four shots of whiskey into his night with a memory of the ghost he loved, Felix suddenly felt entirely too lonely.

So he went for his fifth shot not five minutes later and knew that he was settling in for a very hard night. Jack apparently intended to stay in the study for the rest of the night with the collection of books Felix had picked up the other day. Maybe Jack had found something interesting. Maybe he’d discovered a legitimate breakthrough.

The thought of hope felt like too much and Felix grabbed a tall glass intended for water, filling it to the brim with that golden mistake before returning to the couch. He couldn’t let himself think about it. He couldn’t imagine any sort of outcome that could end up happily for him and Jack because when they would, eventually, fail again, the break of his hope could finally prove to be too much.

Felix was fragile, you know. After losing Marzia and muddling his way through living in a new country, then earning a god damn fucking ghost as his roommate (who he then fell _in fucking love with_ ), Felix had very little grace when it came to how much stress and heartbreak he could take from this point forward. Any small thing could be the final straw. Maybe it would be seeing a poor dog get hit by a car in the middle of the street, or maybe it would be getting fired from work. Maybe it would be the news that his sister had decided he really was too much of a danger to the family and that he couldn’t come home to Gothenburg for Christmas, that he couldn’t see his nephew.

Maybe it would be Felix himself. Maybe he’d think himself into a pit of despair that would put him back into the psych ward, or the ICU. Or maybe it’d be something physical. Maybe Felix would be the one getting hit by the car, or maybe he’d have a heart attack after Jack poked his head in on his shower for the millionth time. Maybe Felix would choke on his breakfast or fall down the stairs or maybe…

Maybe he’d put those sleeping pills back on his nightstand. 

Felix remember that incident well. He’d been desperate to fall asleep, had taken pill after pill well into the AM, near tears at the witching hour and full on sobbing by four. His stomach had hurt but he had been certain falling asleep would make the pain go away. Then he’d slipped into nothing only to wake up up in the hospital with no idea how he’d gotten there. The doctors had told him that his neighbor had stopped by that morning to check on him (they’d known he was taking Marzia’s death pretty badly) and had called 9-9-9 when no one had answered the door. Felix had checked himself into the psych ward the next week. 

Felix knew it would go differently tonight if he could commit. All the pills in one go, make it silent and quick so Jack would have no time to interfere. Then Felix would ghost through the walls and make things move with his mind, just like Jack could. He was sure ghosts could touch each other. He’d finally be able to reach out and feel Jack’s skin under his fingertips, he’d cradled Jack’s face in his hands and pull him in for their first, long-overdue kiss. He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to touch Jack. He didn’t want to imagine, because again, it fucking hurt. 

Felix blinked furiously as the walls around him started to blur. The alcohol was settling in, yes, but he was also beginning to cry. Crying made him feel weak, yet his old therapist had insisted it was one of the easiest ways to heal. How could he heal from something that made him feel like absolutely shit?

The tears began to flow freely, and he was starting to feel a little dizzy. Felix set the half empty tall glass on the coffee table and pressed his fingertips into his eyes. He didn’t feel drunk, but he knew he wouldn’t actually _feel drunk_ until he tried to stand up. Felix resolved not to stand up. 

He passed out across the couch before he could finish the last glass of whiskey, and woke up the next morning with it gone from the coffee table where it had been. Jack was standing — or really, floating — beside the couch with an annoyed expression, like Felix passing out on the couch had somehow inconvenienced him. 

“What?” Felix asked, squinting against the harsh light that filtered through the blinds next to the couch. “What?”

“I saw how much ye’ drank,” Jack said, sounding angry now. Felix continued to stare at him and hated how he could see the room through Jack. He didn’t want to see the fridge inside Jack’s chest, he wanted Jack to take up his entire field of vision and leave him blind. He wanted Jack solid and alive. He wanted that so badly that he suddenly couldn’t breathe. Felix’s head swam and his stomach churned. Suddenly, he was crying again, and Jack looked a lot less annoyed. 

As Felix bent over the edge of the sofa to cry and struggle to breathe through the god damn, fucking panic attack, Jack could only levitated uselessly to the side, calling out his name to try and draw his attention away from the pain and the panic. Felix felt cold all over in a sudden second and knew that Jack had reached out to try and touch him, only to fail. The thought only made the pain worse. 

In all honesty, even with how awful it felt to hyperventilate with a pounding headache and his stomach turning over, Felix knew that he would drink again. 

**Två**

There was vodka this time. Something that Felix was a lot more familiar with, something that he could usually control, except this time he had a whole bottle of the shit and he had a plan for the night. Jack had turned in to the study— again. He’d been obsessing in the study for the past few days, rambling about finding the contact for the original, or something weird like that. Half of the time Felix didn’t understand the subtle depth to the otherwise mundane nouns Jack used to describe what had happened to him. Felix didn’t know what the original was, but he did know he was lonely again. Worked sucked and Felix was bad at people. The only reason the thing he and Jack shared worked was because Jack wasn’t really “people” anymore. 

The vodka started out in orange juice, just tiny amounts mixed in with the citrus. Jack popped his head out in the middle of a photo of a waterfall — probably to check up on him — and once he left, Felix let himself indulge. He put away the orange juice and went straight to the hard stuff. He knew he would hate himself tomorrow morning, but he also planned on avoiding the panic attack by putting on some TV to distract himself. It was called being proactive. It was what made him an adult. 

Game of Thrones was on, so Felix quickly changed the channel. He and Jack had promised to never watch the show without one another— the same went for Stranger Things, Breaking Bad reruns, and any anime. Jack often said that anime was the worst thing the 20th century had created, but then sat with Felix through every single episode of Bakuman. Maybe Jack just enjoyed his company. 

Felix settled on _V for Vendetta_ and poured himself his first glass of vodka. He told himself he’d take it slower tonight, exert more control. Regardless of how horrible the morning after had been, Felix had felt better in the moment go drunken despair. At least he could think clearly and without guilt. 

_V for Vendetta_ ended an hour and two glasses later. Granted, they were all those shallow pours you saw in the movies, hardly a full glass. Felix never drank in full glasses, but at this point, he was still a bit of a giggly mess. The intro sequence for _The Sixth Sense_ started and Felix was a little too drunk to realize how bad of an idea it was to watch this movie. Getting drunk to cope with having a ghost boyfriend and watching a movie about a ghost discovering he’s dead though a small child wasn’t exactly a good idea. But he loved Bruce Willis. And again, he was drunk. 

And he was crying within the hour from watching the little girl struggle to communicate and tell someone that her mother had killed her. Not because of the ghost thing or the tragic back story, but because of her death. Her death looked so horribly painful, so awful, something no child deserved to go through, and he could only think about Jack. 

He wasn’t sure if Jack had necessarily died, so much as he’d had his soul torn from his body. That still had to hurt, right? And the fear Jack must have felt during the tearing and then his wandering immediately after. Jack had been alone for so many years. He’d been haunting this place, had watched his home be turned into some shitty apartment complex, and had been forced to watch Felix muddle through all of his fucking problems whether he wanted to or not. 

For all of Felix’s talk of feeling alone, he knew what he felt had to be nothing compared to what Jack went through. Jack hadn't been able to touch another living being in centuries. He had to be starved for affection, had to be desperate for something. Maybe that was why he didn’t mind hanging around Felix, amulet or not. 

Felix’s hand drifted upwards unconsciously to grasp the amulet around his neck and squeeze it. He wished it worked like he’d read in fan-fiction and shit on the internet. He wished holding the amulet tighter translated into a hug for Jack. And if that were how it worked, then he could probably get away with stroking it to see if it got Jack off. Felix flushed and dropped the amulet, deciding that was a bad idea to explore. 

Back onscreen, the father was discovering his wife had murdered their daughter. Felix’s lower lip began to tremble as he finished his third shot of vodka. This poor father finding out his daughter had been murdered by someone he’d trusted. Again, Felix couldn’t imagine the pain. Now the father would be alone too, just himself and his only remaining daughter. He would never trust anyone aside from his daughter ever again, and how could he? The woman he’d loved had turned against him. 

He wondered how Jack could trust people, could trust anyone. He wondered how Jack could trust him. Jack must have seen so much evil while wandering endlessly through the years. He’d seen world wars, he’d seen genocides, he’d seen murder and rape and mayhem, and always from different people, always a different monster in the same skin wrapped around bones that called themselves a human. Felix couldn’t understand how Jack was able to put aside the general disgust he had to feel for the actions of humans in favor of remaining at Felix’s side through everything. 

Jack was such a good person. Such a good ghost? Such an amazing existence and Felix didn’t deserve him, didn’t deserve his companionship, especially when all Felix did was constantly begrudge the fact that they couldn’t touch. It wasn’t fair to Jack, Jack had to be just as frustrated as Felix. If Jack loved him like he said he did, then Felix was a complete fucking asshole and a needy asshole and he didn’t deserve anything good in his life because all he did was complain about one of the best things he’d ever had.

“You’re intoxicated.”

Felix looked up at Jack and blinked slowly through the tears, sniffling. “I-I’m sorry,” he whimpered, sitting up straighter and putting aside his third glass of vodka. But then he realized it was a different glass. It had a tree chiseled into the side. Maybe it was his fourth? He was going to be so sick tomorrow. “Jack, I’m sorry,” he repeated, stressing the last word so Jack would understand what he was talking about. “I, I’m sorry that all I think about is sex. I’m sorry I can’t stop thinking about your skin and, and your lips, and your taste. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Jack looked worried, his expression drawn and shuttering closed seconds later. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Felix with a stiff jaw. “Ye’ve been drinking,” he said, voice grating low like death, as it always did. Jack just sounded spooky and deathly always. “Do ye’ make a habit of this? Ye’ haven’t drank like this since I’ve met ye’.”

“I’m just so sorry,” Felix babbled, running his hands over his face vigorously. He could feel skin, feel his own skin, but it wasn’t Jack’s skin like he wanted, and that just made him feel worse. Jack didn’t deserve how often Felix lamented this. It had to be even more depressing with Jack’s already harrowing existence. Felix was pretty sure his nose was running from how much he was crying. He had to look so unattractive. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Felix repeated, rubbing his nose to try and make himself look like less of a mess. He ended up knocking over the rest of his drink onto the floor. A whine escaped his throat and he started to cry harder, because he was a fucking failure, a little girl had been murdered by her mother, and Jack was lonelier than him. “I-I just want you to be happy,” he sobbed. “I want y-you happy! And I’m sorry if I m-make that even more difficult!”

“Felix, what on earth are you going on about?” Jack sat beside him, and yet again, the sofa didn’t indent. Felix felt no warmth. He was sitting next to nothing; if someone walked by and saw this moment between him and Jack, all they’d see was some drunk mess talking to himself on the couch. 

“I c-can’t imagine what you’ve been through,” Felix rambled, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine the things you’ve seen, the, the, the evil. You were here when Britain was being bombed! You were here when everything went to hell, you were here for all of the awful wars, a-and you’ve seen things happen in the streets, seen death and sickness and horrible, horrible things, Jack.” Felix sobbed again and pinched his inner wrist to try and control himself. Then he reached for the empty glass, intending on refilling it. 

“Don’t touch that,” Jack snapped. Felix instantly retracted his arm. 

“Do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?” Felix asked. Jack looked wrecked by the question, which he should have expected. Felix was good at hurting Jack. He knew that now. Vodka had helped him understand. “Does this torture you like it does to me? Do you want to touch me, Jack?”

Felix turned on the couch to face the other man, shoving his hand out and watching it go right through Jack’s stomach. “If I could just touch you, I, I think I’d be okay,” Felix murmured. “Just once. Just once…” Felix smiled wretchedly. “I’d die to kiss you just once.”

“You’re going to bed,” Jack said, his voice low and dangerous, an obvious command. “ _Now._ ”

Felix shook his head. “I, I haven’t finished thinking yet.”

“You’re done thinking, do you understand me? You are going to your bed and you are resting. If I see you touch that bottle again, I will find some sort of punishment.”

“Gonna knock over my cereal bowl in the morning?” Felix asked. “I’m staying. I, I’m staying.”

The sofa began to shake. The glasses were lifted off the coffee table, and the coffee table was lifted off the floor. Felix cried out and held on tight to the sofa cushions as the windows rattled and the TV turned to static. A garbled voice came from the electronic fuzz, a low sound reciting verse in a language Felix didn’t understand. The lights flickered and popped. Felix drew his knees to his chest and ducked his head, waiting for whatever this was to pass.

The sofa stopped shaking, the furniture was suddenly lowered, and the TV began to show Bruce Willis’ face again. Felix looked up to see Jack was watching him. Jack looked sad.

“Go to bed, Felix.”

Felix’s hands were shaking. He nodded and stumbled to his feet, swaying dangerously and just making it to his bedroom. He dropped onto the mattress, then looked to the doorway, expecting Jack to appear and stay with him like he normally did. The soft blue glow of Jack’s ethereal form behind Felix’s eyelids was sometimes the only thing that kept the nightmares away. 

But Jack never showed up, so Felix slept alone and watched Marzia die for the millionth time in his life. 

**Tre**

This time, he had a better plan. Jack probably wasn’t all about Felix desecrating his home and making a fucking fool of himself while drunk off his ass. The morning after the second night had left Felix vomiting over the toilet for an hour. Jack had floated above the counter just to give him company, but had said very little. And it was hard to purge your stomach while knowing you were just constantly disappointing someone you loved. 

So Felix was at a pub, one that was just down the street from where he lived. He knew Jack had to be close, especially since the amulet was still slung around Felix’s neck, and maybe he felt a little bad that he was keeping Jack away from his dusty books, but Felix needed to get drunk. He did, he honestly needed to lose himself to whatever awful thoughts were swirling around and just work shit out. And Felix found he was much better at working shit out when under the influence; hence, the pub. 

“It’ll just be an hour,” Felix told mostly himself as he got his first drink. Just a rum and coke, something nice, much nicer than the hard liquor he’d been drinking before this. In his peripherals, he saw a blue glow come in through the wall by the jukebox. Felix cast his gaze away to make sure no one caught him staring at nothing.

“Why are we here?” Jack asked him, sounding upset. “You know I have important work to accomplish. If we are able to find the necessary items before the harvest moon, we may succeed in—”

“Bartender, what’s your recommendation?” Felix asked after downing his entire drink in one go because he could not think of another way to cope with the twisting in his chest. Jack talked so avidly of them actually managing to fix this, but Felix knew it was all pointless. The legitimate harvest moon was such a bullshit thing, real paganism had more to do with the solstices and equinoxes. Jack couldn’t use the computer, so he couldn't google this shit like Jack did. Plus, Jack was Irish, and no matter how long ago he lived, it was nothing compared to Felix’s own extensive tutelage of his Swedish heritage. 

“You’re better off waiting for Mabon,” Felix mumbled into his empty glass, now that the bartender was out of earshot. “Or Ostara. Hell, Yule or Midsummer. Midsummer is huge where I come from, I’d be of better help them.”

“It’s August,” Jack bit out. “We hardly have time to wait for spring.”

Felix shrugged, watching the bartender prepare whatever what the favorite. It had a mix of tequila and fruit. More of the former than the latter, too. Felix was going to get fucked up.

“So this is it, then,” Jack said. “You are finished. Done with me. Ye’ no longer care, is that what I understand? Or ye’ seem to think we have all the time in the world. Never mind the frailty of the amulet, or the frailty of _your own life._ Ye’ have a ghost for a friend, so ye’ know what will happen once it’s done. Who cares if ye’ die?” Jack’s voice was twisted and dripping with disgust. “Ye’ don’t care anymore, so damn what Jack does and when. It’ll happen if it must, but ye’ll never lift a finger to set things in motion. You’re just happy to wallow in your own shame and pity.”

Felix took the completed drink and threw back half of it. The bartender raised a judgmental brow at Felix, which he ignored. 

“You’re just like the rest of them,” Jack murmured. “Ye’ say ye’ care so damn much, lie through your fuckin’ teeth, but when the time comes to act, ye’ push it off. Say it must wait until you have more money, or more time. More of something. Ye’ve never cared for me, have ye’? Ye’ don’t want me to be free of this curse because ye’ want to die. And if I’m suddenly cured, where’s the happiness for you in death?” Felix shouldn’t react, couldn’t react. Not in public, not even when Jack’s words were like knives. “You’re selfish, Felix,” Jack bit out. “And god help me, I still love ye’ through it.”

Jack turned away. “Marzia would hate to see ye’ like this,” he said, and Felix was almost out of his seat, ready to scream in Jack’s face in front of the whole fucking world, until Jack added, “I hate to see ye’ like this. All this pain. This suffering. A man as young as you should never have suffered what you have.” Jack shook his head. “You survived this long only to throw it all away into a bottle.”

Jack paused. “… Leave the amulet in the study next time ye’ want to slowly kill yourself like this.”

Jack disappeared, presumably up a floor, or down a level, or beyond some fucking wall. Felix couldn’t bring himself to care past the ringing in his ears. The drink in his hand suddenly tasted sour and he set it aside. 

“You want something different?” the bartender asked Felix.

He shook his head. Felix lied down his card. “I’m out of here.” 

He barely remembered to take his card back before leaving the pub, feeling like worn down. He walked home, saw the faint blue glow out of his peripherals, and knew that, even for all of his fuckups, Jack was still going to be with him. And he absolutely did not deserve that.

**Noll**

Felix watched Jack phase into the study once they had reached home and realized he didn’t know how to begin to apologize. He wanted a drink, he so badly wanted a fucking drink, and he knew that this was the beginning of an addiction. He’d almost let himself fall into the very pit he’d sworn he’d never approach, and Jack had been the one to keep him from the ledge. Jack deserved an apology. 

Felix looked to the kitchen counter for some sort of clue. He saw the handle of whiskey and the bottle of vodka. This whole damn thing had started from the fucking whiskey that had shown up in his groceries. Felix clenched his teeth, then his fists. He marched into the kitchen and took the whiskey, turning the whole thing over into the sink, watching the amber liquid get swallowed up by the drain. Then the vodka followed. He emptied the bottles and threw them into the trash, a look of disdain coming over his own face. He would not let himself fall to the temptation of such an easy coping technique. He would not hurt Jack like that. He wouldn’t do that to the last person he had on this god forsaken earth. 

Felix kicked the trashcan, heard the glass rattle, and then denied himself the satisfaction of just throwing the damn bottles out the window for them to smash apart on the asphalt. 

“Thank you.”

Felix shrieked and jumped nearly a foot in the air, stumbling over his shoelaces and reacting like he was a lot more drunk than he actually was. Jack snorted a laugh, then gave Felix the first smile he’d seen from the Irishman in days. First one he’d seen since the second time Felix had purposefully gotten himself drunk and been caught. 

“Did you know I was gonna do this?” Felix asked. “Do you have mind reading powers too? Are you omniscient? If you’re omniscient, you need to fucking tell me, cause I’ve had dreams, dude. Dreams that I’m not comfortable with even you seeing, even if we are somehow dating.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I am almost on the verge of a breakthrough with Mabon. Do you wish to aid me in my research?”

Felix nodded and left the kitchen.

“Oh, and Felix?” Felix glanced back, halfway into the study. Jack was watching him with a soft expression, and an even softer smile. But there was something in those eyes, beyond the transparency. For a split second, it almost felt like Jack was solid and Felix could see him and only him, not the fridge kitchen. 

“I do wish to kiss ye’,” Jack confessed. “More than anything. All the time. And at the worst of moments.”

Felix turned to face him, knowing Jack wanted to continue. 

Jack sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. The way the locks fell around his face made Felix wish it could be his fingers running through that gorgeous green in Jack’s stead. “I want to kiss ye’ in the mornings, when I watch ye’ first awaken. I want to kiss ye’ when you try to act like you aren’t laughing at my words as we walk to your work together. I want to kiss ye’ when we’re side by side, watching those silly animated shows you enjoy. I want to kiss you all. The. Time. And it tears me apart to know that I cannot.”

The smile Jack sent him was broken. “Please, beloved. Do not think you are alone in your struggles. Everything I have ever wanted to standing right in front of me, and I simply lack the ability to simply reach out and take it. This is torture of the most inhumane degree. But we can weather this together, my love. I know it. Because as I withstood the test of the centuries, and you the agony of your loss, I know that we can survive just a little longer until we can truly be together.”

Felix swallowed hard and ducked his head, letting his hair cover his eyes. “… Let’s figure out this Mabon shit, yeah? Get you somewhere solid.”

He looked up when he felt cold underneath his chin. Jack’s fingertips moved through his face, but Felix lifted his head in time with Jack’s hand to create the illusion. And as Jack leaned in, the cold enveloping Felix’s lips, he pressed in just as lightly and let himself pretend. 

“I love you,” Jack told him. 

Felix had never felt so cold and so warm at the same time. “I love you too.”

Jack smiled and pulled back. “Mabon?”

Felix nodded. “Mabon.” He still knew this wouldn't work, but he also knew that he would try regardless.


End file.
